


Chance Encounters

by bowandawkward



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, but hey there's some plot here, it's not just fluff, they're both so awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowandawkward/pseuds/bowandawkward
Summary: Luckily, first impressions aren't everything.





	Chance Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> I promised something that wasn't pure fluff, and I have delivered. Hopefully. Here you get a few allusions to Llewelyn's backstory, but not an awful lot. Mostly it's just cute nerds being nerds. Enjoy, please drop a review!  
> 'This is thoughts.'  
> "This is speech."

The first time she sees him, he's crossing the clearing in front of the large portcullis that controls all entrances to and exits from Skyhold. He moves with purpose, weaving through the clusters of people with ease, before bounding up a set of stairs and disappearing from view.

At least, Llewelyn is pretty sure he's a he. The cat's mass of fluffy orange fur makes it too difficult to tell at a distance. But he (she?) prowls the grounds like he owns the place. Considering the fortress lay abandoned for years unknown before the Inquisition claimed it, he quite possibly had owned it - a feline king determined not to allow some meddlesome organization to depose him. She often imagines cuddling some of that superiority right out of him, but knowing cats, the mindset is likely permanent. 'And besides that....' She scowls at her feet, wrapped in fresh bandages only a few minutes earlier. The healer also gave her stern orders - "no standing yet." No standing yet means definitely no walking, and no walking means no following the cat regardless of how badly she wants to.

Fortunately, her view from the makeshift infirmary at Skyhold proves equally interesting. 'Perhaps even more so,' she muses, green eyes tracking the progress of the man she's learned is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's army. Soldiers run to and from his impromptu base of operations on the lawn in a steady stream. It seems he almost constantly receives reports or gives orders, bent with his palms pressed against the table more often than not. The brief glimpses she catches of his profile indicate what must be a truly epic scowl.

She doesn't see him smile once that day.

\--------------

"Fenedhis!"

Only two more steps to the stairs. It's not so bad. But then up the stairs, with the damned cat most likely long gone, and this begins to seem like a terrible, terrible idea. Llewelyn breaths a sigh of relief when she finally braces her hands against the cool stone and leans forward to take weight off of her stinging feet. 

"Need a hand?"

She turns her head and looks up. And up. And up. And up just a bit more, where she finds one eye watching her. "Two feet, actually."

"I might know a guy."

She laughs. "Maybe we should exchange names before making black market deals. Andaran atish'an - I'm Llewelyn."

"The Iron Bull. So, did you need some help there?"

"Only if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"You probably weigh less than my shield."

A moment later Llewelyn finds herself swept up in one of the Qunari's huge arms, leaning against his chest with both legs dangling over his forearm. She tips her head back to meet his eye. "You are very large."

"And you're tiny," Bull replies, starting up the stairs. "Glad we got that out of the way. Where am I dropping you?"

"I'm looking for a cat. An orange tabby. Have you seen him?"

"Not today. It usually passes by the tavern a couple of times a day, though. Nobody pays it much mind."

The elf sighs and brushes a bit of dark hair from her eyes. It falls right back. "Foiled again, I suppose. Just over there, then? I'll sit in the sun for a while."

"Sure thing."

Bull waits patiently while Llewelyn gingerly lowers herself to the ground, straightening her tunic before she offers him a bright smile. "Thank you, The Iron Bull. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"See you around. I'll get back to you about the feet."

She laughs, and Bull takes his leave.

For some time Llewelyn just sits, the brightness of the sun on her face and warm earth beneath her palms. Around her life at Skyhold carries on. Once, just briefly, she's almost certain Commander Cullen catches her eye - though he might just as well have been looking at the irate healer who finally got around to yelling at her for wandering off.

\--------------

"Not this time, mister," Llewelyn mutters, picking up her pace to a quick trot to keep within sight of the orange tabby. He makes for a large stairwell next to the tavern, and though the elf's feet still protest slightly she follows him up with little trouble. She finally catches him in a room that looks like an office of some sort, chilly and a bit cluttered. The cat starts up a loud, rumbling purr when the young woman lowers herself carefully to the ground, rubbing up against her legs, sandy yellow eyes closed in bliss when she scratches his ears and under his chin. They sit together, quite content, until someone clears their throat behind them. "Excuse me?"

Llewelyn starts and stumbles to her feet with a muttered curse. Several awkward steps to avoid treading on the cat bring her to face the newcomer, whereupon both freeze. Their eyes lock, wide green with equally surprised amber, and after several painfully long moments of silence whatever Llewelyn meant to say comes out as a squeaky "C-Commander!" She snaps to attention and clasps her hands behind her back.

Cullen opens his mouth to speak and her eyes lock onto the scar on his upper lip of their own accord, the line of pearled tissue distracting enough that she has no idea what he just said. Heat floods to her face. "S-sorry, what was that?"

"Was there something you needed?" He repeats, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

"No, there was - I was just-" Llewelyn swallows, gives a weak gesture toward the irritated tabby, then finishes lamely, "...the cat."

"Oh."

Deafening silence falls over the small room. Neither of them move.

'Creators, now you've done it, Llewelyn.' She clears her throat and Cullen's gaze immediately leaves the floor to meet hers. "I, um...I should probably...." She gestures toward the door to her left, taking slow backward steps toward it until she's able to slip out and bolt away along the ramparts.

Cullen stares at the door a long while after she departs, willing the blush to leave his cheeks.


End file.
